


The Dead Man

by zsomeone



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-05
Updated: 2012-07-05
Packaged: 2018-03-17 00:25:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3508214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zsomeone/pseuds/zsomeone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a ficced out theory of mine, Charles was born in 1848 and died for the first time in 1883.<br/>Charles POV, damnit why do my Charles fics always want to go that way?<br/>I don’t have the patience for much research so I probably screwed up in places.  Just try to roll with it.<br/>Warnings: Character death (but he got better)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dead Man

~ _New York, 1893_ ~

I celebrated my 45th birthday today. Everyone commented on how young I look, I know it’s meant as a compliment but it worries me. It’s easy to dismiss my own perceptions, after all I see my face in the mirror every day, but I can’t ignore the progression of years in my brothers and sisters. My baby brother, eight years younger than I, already has some silver mixed into his dark hair while I still have not a trace. I have seen no noticeable change in my appearance over the last ten years, ever since that incident.

Our family wasn’t wealthy. Oh we were far from poor, there was always food on our table, but there was no funds to be spared for higher education. My eldest brothers left home early to fight in the war, two never returned. I might have gone myself if it had lasted longer, but that wasn’t the case, and just as well because I had higher aspirations. Laws and how they were changing fascinated me, I wanted to be a part of that world.

College was a long slow process, I attended classes when I saved up enough to afford them, then took time off to work and earn the funds to continue. My goal was to attend Georgetown Law School in our Nation’s capitol, and I intended to make it there.  
It took far longer than I had anticipated, but in the spring of 1878 I got my acceptance letter. I had finally completed college the previous winter at the ripe old age of twenty nine.

Georgetown was amazing, and I loved being in the middle of the working of the Nation. When I found out that they offered partial scholarships for athletic talent, I joined the fencing team. I had some experience, one of my brothers had taught me some swordplay, but in this formal environment I excelled. In my first year I earned a partial scholarship and a position on the elite team.  
Sadly, my mother’s failing health necessitated that I return home for a time.

Mother did not improve, and after a long illness eventually passed away. Despite Father wanting me to stay and help run our farm, I felt I needed to return to law school. He had two of my brothers and my still-unmarried youngest sister still at home to help.  
My scholarship was still valid, and I resumed my schooling in the spring of 1881. The fencing team welcomed me back as well, and I quickly regained the edge I’d lost while at home. I applied myself to my studies.

I’ll never know exactly what happened in that final championship match, but the details no longer matter. What I will remember forever is the pain as my opponent’s sharp tip slid through my protective clothing and deep into my chest. I could feel it in my heart, and the searing misery as my poor heart tried to keep beating around it. I knew I was dying, a mere month before achieving my goal. Life is cruel.  
Someone pulled the skewer free and I felt myself lifted and carried as my senses faded away.

I awoke to a face I’d never seen before, the doctor who had miraculously saved me. A large man with grey hair and pale eyes, “You may not leave,” he told me, “You are needed and you will wait.”  
The next part I’m sure I misunderstood, although clear words are burned forever in my memory. “A century and a quarter will pass before we meet again.”  
My recovery was spectacular, and I was even able to graduate on time. A miracle of modern medicine, they all called it.

~ _Europe, 1908_ ~

I left the United States ten years ago, my lack of aging was becoming far too apparent. I am now sixty years old, and still look exactly as I did at thirty five. I have new papers, it was a simple task to alter my documents. I changed the spelling of my last name, it’s quite often misspelled anyway.  
I have traveled through the countries, studying things that interest me. What does a man do when he very well may have all the time in the world?

Father died Soon after I left, I didn’t return for his funeral. I received word that my eldest surviving brother has now followed him. In what seems only a few short years, I will have no immediate family left in this world. As sad as that will be, I await that time for then I will truly be free.  
In my travels I have embraced the fighting arts and take time to study with any masters that I can find. 

~ _America, 1963_ ~

This is a new era, a time when music is king. There is much talk of peace and love, people actually believe they can achieve harmony. I know better, but I cast away my doubts and embrace this change. The strength of their belief is powerful.  
With music they will change the whole world. For the first time, I wonder if my future lies in the music industry.

I returned to the United States in 1914, the Great War had broken out and Europe was in a state of unrest. I settled far from my remaining family and joined a law firm. Everything was changing so rapidly, all these things I would have likely never seen had I aged naturally.  
Another war that we now call World War II came and went, and we’ve been warring in Vietnam for almost ten years now. Four wars in my lifetime, as unnatural as my lifetime may be, and I’m sure there are more yet to come.

I have seen so much over the last century, I’ve seen the automobile invented and it’s rise to present day when most everybody has one. I have seen televisions come, and then in color, entertainment in every home. It’s fortunate I’m quite adaptable, or I would likely be driven mad by all the changes I’ve been witness to over the years.  
Changing fashion has been a source of great entertainment for me as well.

~ _Mordhaus, 2008_ ~

As I lay dying on the floor, I see him, the doctor from so long ago. I recognize him instantly, although I haven’t seen his face in 125 years. How has he lived so long? How have I?  
Dethklok is safe so I did my job, I am not dying in vain.  
The big man, he will be the last thing I see.  
My vision wavers, his face tilts, and I spiral into blackness.

I awake in one of our medical choppers, a Gear frantically working to save me. I have no idea how I am still alive, but I have to die. I have an unshakable feeling that I _have_ to die.  
I pull him closer with the last of my strength, my voice is weak in my ears. “I need you to kill me.”  
Ever loyal and obedient, he does.  
Finally, I am free.

~ _Mordhaus, present day_ ~

I am the dead man. I still breathe and I still bleed, but I’m dead all the same.  
I’ve been on this Earth for 164 years, and haven’t aged a day in over a century. Fortunately my employers are basically idiots who have never noticed that I don’t change. I do my best to stay out of the public eye, which isn’t as hard as it sounds since the attention is always focused on Dethklok.

I have watched the news footage many times, I suppose it’s a sick fascination but I can’t resist. After all, how many people have seen their own funeral? Again and again I watch as the flames consume my body on the pyre.  
I don’t remember anything from while I was dead. Or rather, I suppose that in a way I have been dead since that incident so very long ago, but I am referring to the blackness before I came back into existence. 

Nine months had passed, but I returned just in time to save them from financial ruin. I still wore the scars of my death at that time, but they have since faded away. The guys think I wear makeup to cover the one on the side of my face, but the truth is that I simply no longer have it.  
Somehow, Dethklok is my destiny, the reason I’ve been kept alive all these years. I remember thinking that music might change the world, and indeed they have in ways I could never have imagined.

I am a part of this, whatever forces are behind Dethklok. I have seen the ancient tablets that bear their likenesses, there are forces at work here I can’t even imagine. Somehow, for some reason, I have been chosen as their caretaker. Somehow, for some reason, that man has brought me back twice now.  
Most things carry a three strikes rule, and I have two counted against me.  
I feel I may be required to die for them one final time.


End file.
